


Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream

by Maidenjedi



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/pseuds/Maidenjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Richie Tozier has a last run-in with It, and passes into manhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenlily/gifts).



> Title from a Simon and Garfunkel song. Written for greenlily in Yuletide's 2009 New Years Resolutions Challenge. I had completely forgotten I wrote this, and found it while browsing the old Yuletide site. Posting on DW/LJ/AO3 for the first time.

The second time Richie Tozier lost his virginity, he was seventeen years old, and quite convinced there had never been a first time.

As a matter of fact, he didn't have any clue there had been a first time, except for the occasional wet dream about a redhead taking his hand in the dark and showing him the universe in a few quick thrusts of her hips. But he'd always had an active imagination and he was nothing if not a typical teenage boy (or so his parents frequently lamented when they thought he couldn't hear them).

Seventeen wasn't so different from sixteen, really, except that he'd started to fill out instead of growing gawkier, and he was taking trigonometry instead of geometry. And the girls at school were prettier this year, he was certain of it. Something to do with a healthy summer at the beach, no doubt.

Clarissa Throckmorton caught Richie's eye on the first day of classes; she was tall, her legs making up most of her, and she had red hair. He always liked the redheads the best; his mother was blonde, so he felt assured he had no Freudian complex (not that he understood the term beyond I'm-smarter-than-thou essays in his psych elective).

Not long ago, Clarissa had been the tripping-over-herself-in-gym girl in their graduating class. She'd worn her red hair in two tight pigtails and had struggled a bit with acne on her forehead for all of their freshman year. She was kind of quiet and had a taste for bologna sandwiches. Richie, and many of his male classmates, forgot all of that when she walked in on the first day of their junior year with her locks cascading loose down her back, a white short-sleeved blouse clinging to her newly-acquired curves above her waist and a black short skirt clinging to the curves below. The latest fashion demanded boots, and she wore them, too. Whatever had happened to Clarissa Throckmorton would forever be a secret forbidden to boys, and it was just as well. They were pleased enough with the result.

She didn't take the trouble of singling out any specific male, preferring to let her calm gaze land on each one as she smiled and waved and shouted hellos to friends and acquaintances. Before homeroom began, she had a dozen admirers, one of them this year's starting fullback for the football team. Her expression as she sat down in the chair next to Richie's was telegraphing her mood as "mission accomplished."

A Voice warbled from Richie's throat, much to his dismay. "Ah say, young ladeh, would your fathah allow me to accompaneh you home today?" It was his Massachusetts Senator Voice, still too nasally but not too far off from Jack Kennedy, if he said so himself. But it was still a Voice, and probably not the best way to start a conversation with a girl like Clarissa.

Clarissa was none too picky, fresh from her successful reentry into the world, and giggled and blushed just enough to give Richie hope to last the week.

-

Two weeks later, Clarissa's glow had dimmed somewhat as other pretty faces distracted her various admirers, but she was still gorgeous and Richie was fantasizing about her. The boots and the short skirt didn't make a second appearance at school (the principal had announced a change in the dress code that forbade both), but she wore them on their first date.

Friday night, a movie and ice cream afterwards. It was a bit square, Richie would admit, but it was his first date ever (Clarissa's too, though he didn't know that and she didn't tell him). His mother gave him extra money as he walked out the door, with instructions to pick up flowers on the way. Girls like flowers, she told him, turning to wink at his father. Of course, there wasn't a place to buy flowers on his way to Clarissa's, which was just two streets over, and he didn't have car privileges yet, so Richie pocketed the money and picked a rose from the garden next door. His mother was wise, it seemed; Clarissa nearly squealed with delight as he handed her the ill-gotten flower.

In years to come, Richie would remember [i]From Russia With Love[/i] with fondness, though he could never remember much in the way of details. The film had come to their small town long after it's wide release in major cities, and both Richie and Clarissa had more than a passing interest in film magazines, meaning they knew the plot before entering the theater. Clarissa had exclaimed rather passionately that she wanted to see it, too, when Richie suggested it. When future dates would request anything other than action or "guy" flicks, he would sigh and think fondly of Clarissa for a heartbeat or two. The gal had taste.

Richie succeeded in holding Clarissa's hand during the film, and even got to graze her knee with his fingertips twice until she crossed her legs away from him. She squeezed his hand, however, as if to reassure him that she wasn't slighting him.

At the ice cream shop afterwards, they talked a bit about their classes and what their folks were like. The setting wasn't ideal for anything deeper or more serious, with several couples they knew from school populating the benches around them. Not that Richie was the deep and serious type or anything, but he did want a bit of privacy. So at the end of the evening, just in time for Clarissa's ten o'clock curfew, he asked to see her again. She blushed and said yes, and kissed him on the cheek so quickly even Superman wouldn't have seen it happen.

Richie practically bounced home, and after entertaining his dad with a recount of the evening in a new James Bond Voice (sounding more like Richie with a speech impediment than Sean Connery), he headed up to his room to feign sleep and think about Clarissa's knee under his fingers, and to try and recapture the moment she kissed him.

Her lips were soft, and her knee had been smooth. She'd worn a perfume Richie didn't recognize, and it was so soft it almost didn't smell like anything, just enough to entice a guy into leaning closer to find out what it was. She had on almost no make-up, which Richie liked - he hated when girls caked it on.

He went over these details several times before moving to her clothes, to think about the expanse of bare skin between the tops of her boots and the bottom of her skirt. She'd clearly spent the summer sunbathing, as her thighs had the barest trace of a tan. She had a freckle just above her left knee; Richie was seized with the idea that he wanted to kiss it, and that he wanted to see if she had more. She'd been careful all evening to keep her legs crossed, revealing nothing but teasing him relentlessly. She may have hidden what was between her legs, but her skirt would ride up just a little and he got several good looks at the backs of her thighs.

He'd turned the light off after changing his clothes, and he lay on top of his bedspread with a hand lying lightly on the erection that he'd barely kept in check all evening. Thinking of Clarissa's thighs, and what was between them, and what he could do there with his hands or his mouth or his dick - it didn't take him long. He came and muffled a groan under the back of his free hand.

He went into the bathroom to clean off (he was lucky to have his own) and that was where he saw It for the first time in six years.

In the mirror, Richie Tozier was looking not at himself, but at a werewolf in his letter jacket.

Richie couldn't move. He was confused; maybe he'd fallen asleep on the bed, and this was a nightmare? Surely, it was a nightmare. But he pinched his cheek, hard, and in the mirror the werewolf did the same.

Then the werewolf opened it's mouth and started talking, at first in a voice like a boy's before it changed (Richie's voice, though he didn't recognize it) and slowly, so slowly, into a Voice. It wasn't something he could distinguish as anything he'd done, but it was the kind of thing he would do someday. A character. The Werewolf in the Mirror.

"Richie my boy aren't you horny tonight, don't you want to find her, don't you want to pin her down and have her, aren't you going to go fuck her, why not tonight, she's no nice girl, nice girls don't let boys touch their knees in the movies, oh Richie Rich Richie it's tonight and it's forever and she's got a nice warm...."

And Richie ran from the room, too stunned and too scared to scream.

He sat on his bed and breathed, heavily, as though he'd run a mile and back. What was that thing?

He didn't have to think long to get the answer. It. The werewolf was It.

But we destroyed It we killed It and I'm not in Derry anymore.

His instinct was to pick up the phone and call Bill Denbrough. He hadn't thought of that name in years, had forgotten what Bill even looked like, but suddenly he wanted and needed nothing more than to talk to Stuttering Bill.

He sat rocking and, without knowing it, crying. Fifteen minutes passed and the werewolf image faded from his mind. Twenty minutes and the voice, that awful Voice, was gone, too. Half an hour passed, and he couldn't remember why he wanted to call Bill, and he wasn't sure who Bill even was.

One hour passed, and Richie was sound asleep.

-

The next weekend, Richie took Clarissa out again, this time just for ice cream and then a long walk in the park. He got to first base (or he thought he did - he still wasn't sure what that meant) while they sat on a bench. Clarissa wasn't wearing that skirt or the boots again, but this time she enticed Richie with a low neckline and the barest hint of the tops of her breasts.

He went home and jacked off again, and this time there was no werewolf in the bathroom mirror (not that Richie recalled the one from the week before). But there were nightmares, dreams that started out like all his fantasies did, about sex in a dark place with a pretty redhead. It was so amazing, being set free and being bonded together with someone, he couldn't think who, and then just as they were getting to the good part, horrible, ugly teeth came down on them and it was all over for Richie and his girl.

He woke up sweating and had no idea why.

-

Before the Toziers had left Derry, Richie had met up with Eddie Kaspbrak and Beverly Marsh for one last matinee. They went to see a double creature feature, and Bev screamed and held both their hands, hiding her face against Eddie's shoulder, then Richie's. They left the theatre and went for cherry Cokes at the drugstore, and Eddie left them early to make home before his mother started to worry. It was only four o'clock, and dinner was at six at the Tozier house. Bev's dad was working a late shift, so she was free for awhile yet, and she didn't hesitate when Richie suggested they go for a walk.

They ended up at a playground, and Bev ran to the swings, yelling over her shoulder. "Catch me if you can, Tozier!"

She was taller than she had been the summer before, and her wrists were bruised from a recent shellacking she'd had at her father's hands. Watching her run ahead of him, Richie was seized the desire to protect her, keep her from harm. He couldn't think what might harm her other than her good-for-nothin' excuse for a dad, but he was certain something was waiting to catch her should she keep running past the swing set and into the grove of trees.

So he ran, he ran so fast that he overtook her and when she shouted a giggling protest he tripped over a rock or a root or his own feet. Now he was laughing, unsure why he'd taken off so fast. The sense of danger had passed.

Bev came over to him, her giggles subsiding a bit. She acted concerned and knelt down, feeling Richie's head for bumps. Not even stopping to consider what he was doing, he reached over to tickle her, stomach and then underarms, and she fell to the ground laughing and tickling him back. They were alone at the playground - except for a pair of eyes that peeked out from behind a tree not fifteen feet from where they were.

Richie was caught, suddenly, by the color of Bev's eyes and the shade of pink her cheeks had turned. She was so beautiful, and he stopped tickling her so he could lean down and kiss her.

Saints be praised, she kissed him back. It lasted maybe five seconds.

They sat up, and silence descended, and though it was comfortable, Richie felt like he should say something.

"Bev..."

"It's okay, Richie." She looked at him, trying to say it with a look. He was leaving in two days. The whole gang had long since broken apart and begun moving away. Richie, Bev, Eddie and Michael were the only ones left in Derry. The kiss had probably been about all of that as much as anything; Richie and Bev both wanted things to stay the same, wanted a connection with each other that seemed to have faded and stretched until it wasn't a connection at all.

He stood up first, brushed his hands off on his jeans, and in his Southern Gentleman Voice asked Beverly to accompany him, as surely they had been out too late without a chaperone. She giggled, more subdued than before, and took his hand. They didn't let go of each other until they stood at Bev's door.

That night was the first time Richie dreamed of the redheaded girl and sex in a dark place. He wouldn't remember that it was Bev he dreamed of until 1985.

-

Richie dated Clarissa for six months before they had sex.

In that six months, they went to the movies and made out at the park. After three months, Richie had been allowed to take his father's car, and that same evening he'd gotten to third base with Clarissa (hands on her breasts under her bra, trailing under her skirt). All the while, he had nightmares and visions of werewolves and once thought he heard a turtle talking to him, but he always forgot these things almost as soon as they happened. Once, he really had tried to call Bill Denbrough, but on the other end there was no such person and Richie had hung up confused as to why he had picked up the phone in the first place.

Finally, one evening in late spring, Richie drove to Clarissa's to pick her up for a date. They had no plan in mind for the evening, or at least, neither of them had suggested a movie or a walk or ice cream or anything. But Richie had gone two weeks before to buy a condom; he and another guy, Dave Hitchins, had gone together for moral support. It was in Richie's wallet and seemed to be burning a hole there.

Clarissa came out of the house dressed in a skirt not very different from the one she'd worn on their first date, except it was green and flounced just a bit, flying up as she practically skipped to the car. Richie was mesmerized, and Clarissa sat down in the passenger seat with a look saying she had intended for him to get this erection that his trousers were unable to conceal. It took him a minute to get collected, and then they drove off at such a speed that her neighbors wondered what all the racket was for.

He had no destination in mind, but Clarissa gave directions, and they ended up at the edge of town in a new housing development. The streets had been paved, but there were only skeletons of houses, and of course construction crews had knocked off for the day. They parked two blocks in, just enough so they wouldn't be noticed by passersby on the main road.

It started with Clarissa leaning over to kiss Richie. She rarely started anything, but she was always into it once they got going; the kiss surprised him and he jumped, just a little. She laughed against his lips and he loved her laugh, it always got to him, and just like that he was kissing back. They had French-kissed, of course, but this was more than that, it was better. This was a kiss that was going somewhere.

Richie found his hands unbuttoning her blouse; she was reaching for his fly, grazing her knuckles over the bulge she found there. He moaned and she responded by unzipping his pants, reaching in for his cock and breaking their kiss so she could lean down and lick the tip.

He would never know how he kept himself in control.

Richie took his turn by shedding Clarissa of her blouse and then her bra, with some difficulty at the clasp. Her breasts were not small, though neither were they huge, just about a handful each. He knew because he'd held them like that a couple of times, and he did so again now, and leaned in to take a nipple in his mouth. He did it because he was curious, not because he thought she might like it, but the groan she let out let him know he'd done something right.

He reached up under her skirt and pulled her panties down. She finished the job, making sure they were all the way off. Richie let his hand rest on her thigh, high but not high enough. She took his hand and moved it up, looking up at him and nodding. His fingers found her wet and hot and he gasped her name.

She climbed into his lap and they slid over together to the middle of the bench seat. Richie silently thanked his dad for getting the model with the gear shift on the steering wheel.

Clarissa's thighs clenched Richie's, and they sat there kissing deeply while she rocked against him gently, tentatively, and he kneaded her breasts. He wanted her, oh he wanted her. But was this really it?

She answered the question before he'd asked it, taking his cock and running it between her folds, letting him feel how much she wanted him in return. It was their first time, both of them; she had told him she would be scared, but she wasn't acting like it. He was anxious and excited.

He made her stop for a moment so he could dig out the condom. He slid it on, inexpertly, and he would notice how it had chafed him later. Once it was on, Richie looked up at Clarissa, and told her he loved her. He'd told her once before, and he had this notion that love was required for this (a notion he never quite lost, even as he grew up). She said it back, whispered it and caressed his face.

He eased into her, going too slow at first and then too fast. She guided him as best she could from her position, but it was awkward. Together they moved and her cheeks were wet, it hurt more than she would tell him, but he didn't notice because he came so quickly and so hard.

Cheeks flushed and a bit embarrassed, they separated. Richie felt like he could go again, but he'd only bought the one condom and in any case, Clarissa looked shy. She kissed him, chastely this time, and told him she loved him again. It wasn't exactly what either of them had thought it would be like, but it was done - they were no longer virgins.

-

Richie went home that night feeling apprehensive. He couldn't have said why. But deep down, he was afraid of dreams, or of visions. While he had no conscious memory of them, it had happened every time he'd come home from fooling around with Clarissa.

But that night, he had no nightmares and there were no visions. Just a dream of a girl yelling for him to chase her, and running after her, and kissing her.

-

Richie Tozier went to his senior prom with Clarissa Throckmorton, and they talked about what they might do when they went to college, but they broke up the summer after graduation. She had a scholarship to State and that was two hundred miles away; Richie was going to the junior college, at least at first. They saw their fate and decided not to challenge it. Richie was sad to let her go, but he always thought of her fondly.

-

In 1985, Richie Tozier and Beverly Marsh were reunited with all of their friends. And when Bev hugged Richie the first time, the memory of that afternoon with her at the playground came back to him. Eventually they would all remember what happened in the tunnel. Richie always wondered why, when he thought back to that night with Clarissa, he would sometimes forget her face and see another. Looking at Bev's face, he realized at last who it was he thought of.

\-----

END


End file.
